Sense, Sentience, and Sensibility
by thoughtless dreamer
Summary: Carlos really is trying to be as good a boyfriend as he is a scientist. And ok, maybe he's hoping to get some action after six months of dating Cecil without the radio host suddenly running off whenever they get a little carried away kissing. What better way to win boyfriend points than by surprising him before dinner to woo him? But Cecil...isn't the only one surprised. Cecilos!


**Disclaimer**: _I do not own Welcome To Night Vale_. But I do own like a hella lot of the official memorabilia now.

**A/N**: Oh haaay—guess who's totally writing this note with 30 minutes to go before she has to start moving out of her apartment and into the new one and is totally in denial about having to keep working? THIS GIRL /I regret nothing

Also, I love love love this fandom and basically ship this canon OTP harder than FedEx, and so I bring to you something that screamed at me to be written like the citizens of Night Vale scream into the Void.

**Dedicated** to **Samurai . flo**,because she is my perfect Carlos.

**Warnings:** Men doing the do with other men(?) and I say 'question mark' not in the anatomical sense, but as in I struggle with how accurate it is to say "man" as in the species, "Mankind" because Cecil is certainly a special one. Um also oh yeah the new and slightly worrisome tattoos/tentacle? thing. It doesn't make a lot of sense until you read the mumbo jumbo below, and it doesn't make a lot of sense then, either, but BOY IS IT FUN to mess with Perfect Carlos. The best imagery I can give for this fic is those fancy tentacle/tendril/things that Ashitaka gets in Princess Monanoke after he gets all demon!OP **(**h.t.t.p : / media . giphy media / yRJduMWhlCYiQ / giphy . gif (just take out the spaces, and the dots between http)**) **

••∞• Sense, Sentience, and Sensibility •∞••

Carlos was well aware that all of Night Vale understood that, he was, first and foremost, a scientist.

_But he really was_ _trying_ to be, first and foremost an _equally _good_ (_hopefully even _really_ good) boyfriend.

He knew he sometime forgot their dates, and would rush off to do science at a moment's notice. He knew that, sometimes, he neglected his boyfriend, and he was trying to step up. Dating Cecil was exhilarating, and terrifying, and he wanted so badly to do it right. He honestly wasn't sure what Cecil saw in him that made him "so perfect" that he kept on wanting to date him.

But he was grateful for Cecil's patience, and he was trying. And besides. It wasn't like Carlos wasn't having a study in patience, as well. Six months into dating Cecil, and they'd barely so much as toed over second base.

True, this could absolutely be attributed to the fact that both men had very demanding, full time careers that they were required to report to at any given moment. And due to the fact that, well, _this_ _was_ Night Vale, and things that only happened in Night Vale did tend to prove quite impossible to ignore, things generally had to be dealt with _as soon as possible_, before something _terrible_ happened, like, say, the impending annihilation of their precious desert community (and usually had to be capped by the length of the weather—which wasn't always a whole lot of time).

But the fact remained that something always seemed to come up when things started getting hot and heavy with Cecil, and by this point, well…Carlos was getting a little antsy.

They'd be kissing on the couch, and Carlos might slip his hand beneath Cecil's shirt, and suddenly the blond was darting off the couch spluttering an apology and stammering something about forgetting his weekly mandated slice at Rico's_ "and it's Saturday, and it's already ten after 8, ohmigosh, Carlos, I'm so sorry, we gotta order right now, before they close_—"

Or they might be snuggling in bed, staying over at Cecil's apartment, or the loft above Carlos's lab, when all of the sudden when Carlos kissed a little too far down his neck, Cecil would jump out of bed with a sudden thought for his editorial he'd forgotten to jot down, _"and I can't forget it now or I'll lose it for good, Carlos, darling, I'm sorry I'll be right back!"_

It hadn't taken scientific reasoning so much as it'd been a simple, logical deduction, that Cecil was hesitant to be intimate with Carlos.

And Carlos wanted very, _very_ much to be intimate with Cecil.

Cecil was always going on and on about the sweet little nothings that Carlos did from time to time or, alternatively, whining about what he _didn't_ do, so Carlos figured it was a pretty reasonable guess that Cecil needed Carlos to prove that he really did want to put Cecil first, before his work and before Science, in general, before he felt comfortable moving things along any further—and Carlos was eager to prove himself.

And so Carlos had decided this very morning, on a whim, that he was the _leading outside scientist_ here in Night Vale, the head of his own group of researchers, and that it had been _his _request for an extended grant that had been granted and, finally, _he _had the right to clock out early and surprise Cecil by showing up this evening even before dinner.

Cecil absolutely _loved_ it when Carlos was spontaneous-most likely because Carlos, being a Man Of Science, was by nature, _Not Spontaneous_ at all. He figured it was a safe bet that a truly random, not-heavily suggested visit would make Cecil happier than a clam.

(That wasn't just a figure of speech here. The clams they served at Gino's Italian Dining Experience and Grill and Bar were _quite_ giddy once they were cracked open.)

He'd been on the cusp of bringing flowers, but the last time he'd done that Cecil had burst into tears and Carlos hadn't been entirely convinced they'd been good ones, even when his boyfriend had immediately grabbed a vase for them (along with a box of tissues).

His best hunch yet was that maybe daises were some oddly terrible omen, because thinking back, the florist _had_ given him a doubtful look when he'd pointed them out, commenting off-handedly that their neon purple color had reminded him of Cecil.

After the Daisy Incident, Carlos decided that a new, small bloodstone for Cecil's bloodstone circle would be far more likely to be well received, and he'd even brought along a Council-approved copy of _Cat Ballou_.

He whistled at the grass of Cecil's apartment complex's lawn, grinning when it whistled back and he offered a vague wave meant Officer Maria, wherever she was, before using the shortcut Cecil had showed him to unlock the front door, pricking his thumb to smear the drop of blood over the keyhole—where it was eagerly lapped up and he was buzzed in.

He climbed the three flights of stairs to Cecil's floor (he never trusted the elevator since that time the doors had closed as he'd walked in the front door, and heard a bloodcurdling scream, followed by a loud, gulping sound) and he wasn't too surprised to find it unlocked.

Cecil usually left it open when he was expecting Carlos over, and sure enough, even through the door he could heard the muted but familiar sounds of Cecil humming as he clanged about in the kitchen.

Carlos grinned, steeled himself and walked right in, closing the door quietly behind him before turning the corner to greet Cecil in the kitchen and—

"Um," Carlos said eloquently.

"_Carlos_," Cecil replied shrilly.

And then, on the verge of sounding a little hysterical—

"Oh. _Bugger_. You weren't supposed to be home for another hour."

To be honest, Carlos was pretty proud of them and the way they both reacted to each other's presence, considering the circumstances. There was no screaming, no dropping things, and certainly no fleeing the premises.

All of which would have been terrible, considering

a.) Cecil's new neighbors had a very low tolerance for any sounds above a certain decibel level past 5 PM, and was most commonly countered with a tarlike substance that seeped through the corners of the walls (and Cecil always fumed over the residual stains, muttering angrily about writing a strongly worded letter not unlike the ones he was privy to from Station Management),

b.) Cecil was in the middle of playing what looked like musical chairs, except with about five pretty large, very hot pots and pans (he'd get back to that in a moment; being thorough with one's examples and reasoning was the sixth or seventh thing a scientist was), and

c.) Carlos was reasonably sure (say, around forty three percent, give or take five) that the three or four extra appendages springing from Cecil's arms and to help juggle the multiple hissing and sizzling pans weren't necessarily something to flee from.

They were dark and slender and came in varying lengths, and though the rest of Cecil froze, they did not, hovering gently in the air where they each held aloft a pot or pan, their ends curled delicately around each handle. They were a soft, glowing translucent indigo within the confines of mesmerizing and intricate, swirling violet patterns.

Carlos was absolutely certain he'd never see anything like this before, and yet he could have sworn they looked oddly familiar.

In any case, Cecil quickly set down the pots and pans down on the stovetop, distractedly placing two smaller pans right on top of whatever else was cooking in the ones already on the burners before the tendrils disappeared in the blink of an eye.

"….So how was science?" Cecil tried hopefully.

Carlos crossed his arms.

"_Fuck_," Cecil finally mumbled petulantly, turning off all the burners and spinning around to rest against the counter beside the stove, cradling his face in his hands.

"So I…take it that those aren't a new addition?" Carlos asked slowly, trying to gauge Cecil's response – but it was hard when the radio host merely shrugged and kept his face hidden.

So Carlos calmly but cautiously made his way over to his boyfriend until he was standing before him, gingerly grasping his wrists and tugging softly, offering an encouraging smile when one of Cecil's violet eyes peeked from between his fingers.

"I'm not angry, Ceec," he said, quiet and firm, relatively sure that Cecil needed to hear it confirmed out loud—before his tone softened. "I'm just curious. It's the second thing a scientist is," he chuckled, watching closely as Cecil's shoulders relaxed just the tiniest bit.

Finally, Cecil lowered his arms to cross protectively over his stomach, not even bothering to adjust his glasses, which were askew. Carlos fixed them for him before soothingly rubbed his hand up and down Cecil's arm…

Only to glance down and realize something was missing.

"Cecil?" he started carefully.

"Yes, Carlos?"

"Where did your…your tattoos go?"

Cecil gave a heavy sigh and fixed Carlos with an unimpressed look. "Well I mean you _did startle_ them. Not to mention, _me._ And pretty _badly,_ I might add."

"They _move?_ " Carlos asked faintly, his head starting to spin with questions and theories when Cecil gave a muffled snort and a slightly snarky (but mostly defensive) _"well, they're not here __**now**__, are they?"_ _—_but at last, two and two were slowly starting to come together from what he'd seen.

Whether two and two would make _four_ would remain to be seen—in Night Vale, one could never be too sure—but he was going to go out on a limb and try and connect the dots with logic.

On the other hand…Cecil was already screaming his discomfort with his body language, and _dios mio_, _that_ certainly hadn't been the goal of this evening.

If anything, he was dashing his hopes about making any progress tonight on the intimacy front pretty badly—but he _had_ to make sense of this new revelation _now_.

And if that meant waiting _another_ six months to do anything, well, he would happily wait it out if that meant easing Cecil into whatever comfort zone he needed.

"Okay Cecil, here's what we're gonna do," Carlos said, as brightly as he could muster while feeling guilt gnaw at him as he looked at Cecil's glum face. "Would you mind helping me with some Scientific Reasoning?" he asked sweetly, and his stomach gave a happy flip of relief when Cecilperked up a little.

"Really?" he asked softly, and Carlos took his hands into his own and squeezed, flashing a grin at him.

"Really," he confirmed.

"Okay," Cecil said, shoulders straightening a little as Carlos gently coaxed him into the living room and sat them down on the couch.

Carlos could have sworn he saw a glimpse of violet ink flicker around Cecil's collar but he made it a point not to look.

"Alright, I'm going to ask you a few questions, and you can take as much time as you need to formulate an articulate response alright?" Carlos said in the voice he usually tried to muster for scientific announcements, and he felt Cecil jerk to attention as he nodded, as if ready to report every word Carlos said.

Carlos bit back the impulsive smile that threatened to tug at his lips as the thought about the times he made announcements at town meetings, only to notice Cecil staring up at him with awe and not a little pride, recorder in one hand and the scratch-art pad Carlos had bought him for their three month anniversary in the other to take short hand.

…Huh…he'd never thought about how Cecil actually _jotted down_ the notes in short hand before with both hands full.

…Wow, this was beginning to make a lot more sense than he'd originally thought.

"Alright, now, Cecil-" he carefully searched for the right phrasing. "Are your tattoos and…the extra appendages I saw before connected in any way?"

"Yes," Cecil replied earnestly, looking ever more relaxed as it slowly started to sink in that Carlos wasn't going anywhere, was honestly curious and not at all reacting in …whatever way he'd clearly thought he would.

"Could you explain how?" Carlos asked and he smiled encouragingly when Cecil shrugged shortly but nodded slowly.

"Um, well, it's like," Cecil stammered, chewing his lower lip thoughtfully, eyes squinting as he tried to figure out how to put it.

"I don't honestly think there's a term for it in English," he muttered after a long pause. "There's a verb for it in a tongue that might make your ears bleed if I said it out loud, and I don't want to do _that_. "

"Might, or will?" Carlos asked sympathetically.

Cecil looked at him apologetically. "Will," he admitted, looking downtrodden.

"It's okay, Cecil. That's very considerate of you."

"Well, I guess you could say…the tentacles are at rest when they're on my skin, existing in tattoo form," he said at last after mulling the words over carefully. Carlos tried not to let his glee show on his face when Cecil officially coined them as "tentacles,'' but _something_ must have showed because Cecil looked a little relieved.

"Oh, good, that made sense so far?" Cecil asked thankfully.

"Definitely," Carlos assured him. "So, what I just saw now…"

"Well," Cecil began, starting to sound even a little bit nonchalant, much to Carlos's satisfaction, "when they manifest into three dimensional space, they lift off my skin to develop into a semi-corporeal form," he explained, placing a hand on his forearm, absentmindedly stroking where the usual, beautiful swirls of ink were painted.

"I can control them—but they also kinda have an agenda of their own, the longer they're out? Like, they'll work with me, they're basically an extra set of hands, which is super helpful—but they're also sorta like—like cat's tails? They like to do their own thing, sometimes. They're very empathetic," he shrugged.

It took all of Carlos's willpower not to throw Cecil's shirt off right then and there to see what he was talking about—they were talking about _multiplaner existence_ with a living thing that could willing shift dimension back and forth, that could choose whether or not it wanted to phase through physical objects, as evidenced by Cecil's intact shirt, but the way they'd confidently curled around the cookware—_this was unheard of-_

But then he was struck with the sudden clarity of just _why_ Cecil was always so stubbornly reluctant about changing his clothes around Carlos, and _why_ he wore a T-shirt and sweats to bed whenever they spent the night together, no matter how hot and sticky he got in the desert heat.

Carlos's heart hurt for Cecil and his insecurities, and he was relieved beyond measure that they were getting to the bottom of this.

"Cecil, you know that I think Night Vale is the most scientifically interesting town in the world," Carlos began, and Cecil gave a small beam of pride and nostalgia that made Carlos's heart ache again, but with affection this time.

"But you also know my favorite, most fascinating subject in all of Night Vale," he continued, softer, and Cecil bashfully ducked his head as his cheeks flushed the soft purple he usually did when Carlos said something along those lines.

"Me," he admitted after a beat, almost a squeak—and Carlos was delighted to notice his tattoos were ever so slowly sidling back down to their usual spots on the radio host's arms, and he assumed the rest of his body.

(He tried very hard not to think about _everywhere else_ they might be and to keep focused on calming his boyfriend.)

Carlos chuckled and tipped Cecil's chin up so he could press a kiss to his cheek. "Yeah, you, Cecil," he murmured before pulling back a little to look Cecil carefully in the eye, his own gaze briefly flickering up to meet the gaze of the third eye sigil staring down at him from his forehead.

"Do you remember how I reacted when I first noticed you blushed like that? Or when I finally paid enough attention to notice your third eye?"

Cecil squirmed and bit back a reluctant smile.

"You said…you said you liked it," he replied.

"No, I don't think that's _exactly_ what I said," Carlos smirked. "I'm pretty sure I said _ "that's fucking awesome, Cecil."_

Cecil grinned helplessly.

"So why," Carlos went on, voice growing gentle, "why _on earth _would you ever think I wouldn't absolutely _love_ these, too?"

Cecil flinched a little, almost like he'd been burnt, and Carlos's face fell as understanding hit him like a brick.

'_He's been rejected for them before_,' Carlos realized with a wave of horror. '_He was afraid that, if I found out, __**I **__would…'_

He tried to shake the sudden nausea away and cleared his throat, trying and failing to think of anything to say to ease the sudden, uncomfortable shift in mood.

So Carlos did something he never did before he came to Night Vale (but had become a rather unfortunate, impulsive habit since)—and he blurted out the first scientific sounding thing he could think of.

"Are they sentient?"

"_**Carlos**_," Cecil admonished in a sharp whisper, violet eyes flickering a hue darker as they widened and then narrowed into near slits behind his glasses. "Don't be _rude_, they're _right here, __**I'm right here**_—that's like, like asking the real estate brokers if they _like_ being trapped in deer_—_yes, they're sentient, _we're _sentient, thank you very much, but you don't just _say_ stuff like tha—_stop smiling, I'm being serious!_"

Warmth bloomed through Carlos as his boyfriend crossed his arms defensively, the tattoos wriggling further down his arms and curling out over Cecil's skin from their hiding places as if to back up his boyfriend's words.

"I'm sorry," Carlos said, straining not to choke with laughter. "I'm sorry, Ceec, yeah, no that, that was rude—but—you _know_ how the deer make me laugh," Carlos apologized as sincerely as he could, but he couldn't quite keep from smiling, and Cecil was starting to actually look affronted.

So he took the chance to lean in and press his lips to the gentle slope of one of the more indignantly wriggling violet inked tentacles that peeked out from beneath Cecil's collar—making the radio host gasp, and the stylized tendril unfurled just a bit in approval of their host's reaction.

Carlos tried not to stare too blatantly as the lines of ink began to squirm on Cecil's skin; choosing instead to glance off to the side as he traced the tip of his tongue more deliberately along the length of the ink as far as he could before Cecil's clothes blocked off the rest of the pattern; he was startled from trying to eye the curious tentacle from his peripheral when Cecil let out a sudden giggle.

Carols pulled away, eyes as wide and forlorn as he could make them, and Cecil was trying admirably to keep a straight face even with his slip—but Carlos could tell from the crinkling at the corners of Cecil's eyes that all was already forgiven.

"It's okay to look at them—just don't question their intelligence. They're _very_ clever," Cecil explained earnestly, biting his lip to keep from smiling at the way the rest of his tattoos were not so subtly seeking out Carlos's attention.

"They're shy, but they-well, _we_ like you," Cecil amended, his grin finally breaking out as another tendril shyly curled up along Cecil's clavicle to dart coyly beneath Carlos's fingertips when they dipped into the hollow of his throat.

"That's good, I like you too, _all _planesof you," Carlos said quite amiably before tackling his boyfriend back against the sofa so he could effectively pin him to attack every exposed bit of skin with butterfly kisses.

"C-_Car_los," Cecil half giggled, half gasped with delight, twining his fingers into the scientist's dark curls as he leant into the touches with a happy hum, blond lashes fluttering as he tilted his head to give his boyfriend better access.

Carlos couldn't help but pull away to admire the pretty lavender flush of pleasure that stained the radio host's pale cheeks and he cradled Cecil's face tenderly in his calloused hands, stroking his thumbs along his cheeks and smiling at his giddy boyfriend.

Well, he assumed Cecil could see his smile, closed eyes and all, because the sigil on his forehead was glowing faintly where it peered unblinkingly up at him through Cecil's tousled bangs—and he figured his theory was proved correct when Cecil smiled right back, eyes still blissfully closed as he nuzzled his face into Carlos's work-rough palms.

For the forty third, or possibly forty forth time that day, Carlos felt affection bloom through his chest at the thought and feel of Cecil, soft and warm, and he thanked whatever deities or celestial beings that may or may not be out there for somehow entrusting him with the heart of the beloved Voice of Night Vale.

"I love you, Cecil," Carlos said reverently, making his blond boyfriend squirm with delight beneath him as he peeked his violet eyes open to gaze adoringly up at his scientist. "You're incredible."

"_Scientifically_ incredible?" Cecil asked hopefully, and Carlos laughed, low and deep in his chest, and Cecil shivered at the way Carlos's hazel eyes darkened, almost as oaky as his voice.

"Absolutely," he nearly purred, and Cecil almost lifted his hands to cover his face, and the stupid expression he was probably making—but Carlos caught his hands and, holding his wrists loosely from where he'd trapped them in mid-raise, he lifted both hands to his lips, lingering kisses to each knuckle, chuckling a bit at the way the tattoos wriggled their way down towards Carlos's lips and the soft scratch of his stubble.

The ink moved down, down, _down_ in a very similar fashion to the way Cecil's _blood_ was moving as Carlos began to lap gently between the webbing of each of Cecil's fingers.

Cecil's hands always fascinated Carlos. He could (and would) sit and watch his boyfriend for hours as Cecil talked, watching his hands dance through the air as Cecil practically drew out a picture of the events that had happened that day.

Or, sometimes, not so shockingly, they literally did—painting little flickers almost like projected images that hung, shimmering, briefly in the air, if Cecil was particularly tuned in and was talking about something he was currently watching happen via his third eye.

Yes, Cecil was, quite possibly, the more scientifically impossible and incredible part of all of Night Vale, and Carlos loved him. He loved him for, the way he wholeheartedly loved his hometown, his charming, genuine personality and beautifully unearthly looks, and loved him even more for turning everything he'd ever known as fact on its head and making him question everything, every day, living each day with a completely open mind.

Who needed Newton, when he could watch Cecil coo over Khoshekh and his litter?

"Carlos," Cecil whined, poking at Carlos's nose—wearing with a delectable pout that had Carlos's mouth watering with the desire to kiss it away—"stop thinking about science and think about me!"

"I _am_ thinking about you," Carlos said honestly, and then he leaned in to whisper almost conspiratorially into Cecil's ear, but, as always, just this side of loud enough to satisfy the pointed, muffled cough outside from Officer Maria's bush.

"I was thinking about how I like you even _more_ than science."

A sharp inhale from a deliriously happy, yet scandalized Cecil had Carlos chuckling before he moved in to kiss his boyfriend properly, smiling when arms snaked around his neck to pull him down closer—and he could have _sworn_ that he felt something affectionately brush his cheek. He was too busy kissing Cecil back to notice.

Until there was another—or _something_—definitely wrapping around his waist.

Carlos broke the kiss to look down, and Cecil made a small, questioning noise in the back of his throat before he followed Carlos's suddenly wide gaze—_then_, he _tsked_ loudly, rolling his violet eyes.

"_Hey_," Cecil said sharply, and the tattooed tendril recoiled, as if it'd been stung, "we _talked _about this. _No means no_."

"Cecil?" Carlos asked, blinking rapidly as he tried to make sense of what he'd seen, heart beating with excitement. It'd been—from what he'd so briefly seen—that same, translucent violet carrying pots in the kitchen, but this time curled possessively around his waist, _and it might have been warm_.

But he couldn't be sure. He'd have to see it again—thought he had an inkling as to what it really had been. "So that was-"

"Yes," Cecil sighed, flicking at one of the lines of ink that was moving – dare he say, petulantly? – over the back of his hands. "That was one of them. Sometimes, they like to get a little _too much_ of a mind of their own," he said loudly before looking a little meek as he noticed Carlos's dumbfounded expression. "Sorry," he tacked on.

"You're _sorry-? nonon_o, _Ceec_, don't apologize," Carlos hastened to say, hating how put out Cecil suddenly looked, and he tried to school his flabbergasted features into something a little bit more convincing.

"Cecil, I think they're amazing-_you're_ _amazing_," he reiterated the second part for what had to be around the eighty-third time since they'd started going out. "It's just—approximately five minutes ago I became resolutely aware that your tattoos moved, let alone had _sentience_," he explained, running a hand soothingly down Cecil's thigh.

"I hadn't expected that, given five more minutes, I'd discover that_, not only_ could they react, emote, and move in their two-dimensional environment, but that they also could exist in a three-dimensional space as _tentacles_, showing up and affecting _multiple_ planes, including the _very one_ we inhabit, and exhibiting the ability to affect multiple senses, ranging from ocular, and the least of none being _tactile_-"

"_**Oh my stars**_, Carlos_,_" Cecil groaned against Carlos's lips as he tugged him down to crash their mouths together again, voice breaking into a moan, eyes glazed as he pulled back abruptly to pant for air to get enough breath to continue, "I _love_ _it_ when you talk _Science,_" he gasped, burying his hands into Carlos's luscious hair, and combing his fingers all throughout his mess of dark curls, and Carlos was leaning into the touches—

—and slowly realized that there were definitely more than two hands (or_…_maybe _appendages_ was a better word?) stroking his hair lovingly. He quickly decided not to acknowledge them so curiously again, merely clasping his hands over Cecil's two _hands_ and holding them there tenderly while tilting his head into the almost bashful touches that shyly continued, letting out a contented hum.

He cracked an eye open to gauge Cecil's reaction—and he was so glad he did, if only to watch the myriad of emotions pass fleetingly over his beloved radio host's face: from surprise to exasperation; from tentative caution to outright shock; and then, finally, timid hope to speechless delight.

Delight that was complete with the manifestation of an additional two tendrils combing eagerly through his hair, as if they had been waiting for

Permission.

Had Cecil ever intended for Carlos to discover his extra, non-planer limbs? Had he meant to keep this a secret, this incredible, _fantastic_ attribute that was one of the many things that made Cecil _Cecil Gershwin Palmer_ the incredible (human?)being he was? Would Cecil have been scared to reveal this to his boyfriend, so terribly afraid to do anything without Carlos's explicit permission (that Carlos couldn't have _possibly _known he could grant) that Cecil was too scared to ask for?

_This really was_ why Cecil had been so hesitant about going any further?

"_Cecil_," Carlos began, softly, with as much warmth as he could muster into the name, the name that had _changed his life so much—_yet, still, every inch of Cecil froze – tentacles in his hair included, and the bespeckled blond seemed to shy away.

Carlos tried not to frown, but made it Very Clear that that was _not_ his intension by reaching, with all the bravado he didn't have, to gently stroke his fingers along the tentacle that was cautiously but oh so tenderly caressing the shell of his ear.

It took every last bit of willpower for Carlos _not_ to immediately start taking notes _as quickly as possible_—(observations were already flitting through his head, as he marveled at their velvety, smooth texture; the way their temperature matched Cecil's gradually rising one; and the fact that it felt perfectly solid beneath his touch despite the fact that _he could see through it_)—but Cecil was his _boyfriend_, _not an experiment_, and he needed to be the perfect boyfriend Cecil claimed he was, and _not_, as he was first and foremost by nature, a scientist.

A scientist may be self-reliant before anything else but it took two to build a relationship.

So Carlos grasped the tentacle like he would Cecil's hand—firmly but confidently, comfortably and happily—and, again, much like just one of Cecil's hands, gently guided it to his mouth to press a soft kiss to the back of it.

Cecil made a sound like a dying man and Carlos looked up in alarm, but the next thing he knew, _he_ was on his back and Cecil was pressed flush against him, nearly beside himself with emotion—and Carlos had to gently shake Cecil by the shoulder to get his attention when repeated, gentle murmurs of _"Cecil"_ failed to get him to notice how strongly he was emoting.

Sniffling, Cecil blinked away iridescent, pearly tears to finally notice the way the shadows were all whipping around in the corners of the room and he took a deep breath, letting it out in a shuttering sigh as he rubbed his face, giving a watery laugh when Carlos nudged his hands away to get a peek at his boyfriend's face.

"I'm sorry," Cecil said, and then hurried to continue when Carlos frowned and opened his mouth to object. "I mean, I'm sorry for being such a wreck," he explained, swallowing thickly around the sudden lump in his throat. "I mean, it's just," Cecil sighed, clearly irritated with his sudden bout of speechlessness, not exactly used to being at a loss for words, but Carlos only nodded slowly, patiently as he waited for Cecil to gather his thoughts.

"You're just so _perfect_," he said, with so much love and wonder it made Carlos's heart stutter. "You're _Carlos_, _my_ _perfect Carlos_, and there's absolutely nothing weird about you…and I'm just…just…" he sniffled, his lower lip quivering before he buried his face in his hands.

"Just some cross-breed weirdo with a long-standing prophecy and a convenient siren bloodline to fulfill it," he said sadly all in one breath, and his eyes narrowed in mild indignation. "And for all this, I didn't even get to be one of Night Vale's fifty three percent to be born without pain receptors, I mean, is that too much to ask for?" he added grumpily.

But Carlos wasn't going to hear anymore of this, and so before Cecil could continue his self-depreciating spiel, he leaned in and kissed the blond silent (or, as silent as Cecil got, meaning his words deteriorated into pleasant, muffled moans), gently moving their lips together until he felt some of the tension inevitably melt from his boyfriend's shoulders.

"You didn't ask for a freak like me," Cecil whispered when they broke apart to breathe, resting his forehead against Carlos's with a weary sigh that fanned over Carlos's tingling lips pleasantly.

"Cecil, I keep thinking I couldn't possibly ask for anything _more_, and yet you keep on surprising me, by giving me things I never even knew I could want, let alone _have,_" Carlos chuckled helplessly, and Cecil's downturned eyes finally lifted to meet Carlos's warm amber ones hesitantly.

"You don't mean that," Cecil warned timidly, but the cautious hope had his eyes flickering a brighter lilac than the muddy mauve from before.

_Goddamn it_, Cecil was the only person Carlos had ever met whose eyes literally _lit up with joy._

"I want to know everything about you, Cecil Palmer. So I can love everything about you" Carlos declared certainly, and even he was surprised by the conviction in his words, by just how much he meant that, whether it meant knowing that Cecil had more than just these manifesting tattoos that were really pseudo tentacles, or hell, more than one mouth—or _head_, for that matter.

As far as Carlos was concerned, the more of Cecil there was to discover, the more there was to love.

He barely managed to swallow the groan of relief that came with the return of the bright smile Cecil usually wore lighting up his face (and Carlos didn't think it was just him—he was relatively certain the no longer thrashing, but lazily swirling shadows along the walls dimmed as the room grew a little brighter) but Carlos managed—and it helped when Cecil promptly smothered it with his own moan pressed against Carlos's lips.

Carlos let himself get a little lost in the kiss—the soft, wet warmth of his lips, the odd, honeyed-allspice taste of Cecil, and the gentle scruff of his chin against his—and he only pulled away with a soft, wet sound when Cecil made a strange _hgnh_ noise in the back of his throat. He met Cecil's purple eyes curiously, but the radio host only went deep purple and bit his lip before looking pointedly to his left, and Carlos followed his eyes and—

_Ah_.

"Are they sensitive?" Carlos asked as he gingerly let go of the tendril he hadn't even realized he'd gotten his hands on—and that's about the moment when it rather belatedly _clicked_ for Carlos, even as Cecil nodded with a fervent _ "very,_" even as his face fell a little with disappointment when Carlos released his grip.

_Of course the tattoos are sentient_. _They were literally a part of Cecil's anatomy_.

(_Oh_. That really explained his indignation from before.)

He'd already exhibited control over them, but Carlos had thought, from the way Cecil chastised them earlier, that they responded to his verbal commands. However, they'd also made it quite clear that he didn't _strictly_ obey Cecil, and would very much do what they wanted the moment Cecil wasn't paying attention. They must have neurons in their limbs, like an octopus's, Carlos realized with a vague sound of awe.

He made it about as far as wondering if these tentacles could detach and run-away like an octopus' before his brain helpfully doubled back to the realization _part of Cecil's anatomy._

So of course he did what any good, understanding boyfriend who realized he might very well stand a chance of getting past first base, never mind _third,_ for the first time in an embarrassing amount of years would do, and he coyly grasped the curling tendril again, this time to suck the tip into his mouth.

Cecil immediately gave a full bodied shudder and began vehemently swearing in what sounded like Unmodified Sumerian, which Carlos had never heard him do before, so he crossed his fingers that it was a good thing and gave an experimental lick along the back, as far as his tongue could extend.

Carlos wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but the smooth, velvety texture tasted—like _Cecil_. Just like if he'd been kissing or licking his boyfriends neck like when they were really getting into things, until Cecil got too flustered and stammered his way off the couch, or bed, and padded off to "get some water" or "give thanks in the bloodstone circle."

Well. Cecil certainly wasn't trying to get away _now_, so much as he was trying to get closer—and closer meant less clothes, if the way Cecil was frantically unbuttoning his flannel shirt was any indication.

Which both made Carlos want to cheer in anticipation, and pull his hair our in exasperation at having, once again, _not anticipated_ that it was just a _Night Vale Thing™_, as he and his scientists had taken to calling circumstances like these_._

In any case, he reached up to fumble the buttons of Cecil's vest open, and then groaned at the _next_ set of buttons on Cecil's Oxford shirt, but the breathy laugh he got in response made him smile nonetheless and he couldn't help but kiss Cecil again before he returned to the task at hand.

"Do you wanna," Carlos trailed off, nodding towards the bedroom, and Cecil's face fell.

"We haven't filled out the paperwork for Established Long Term Couples Initiating Physical Intimacies beyond Section 8½," Cecil said sadly, but Carlos awkwardly cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows. Cecil stared dubiously for a good few moments before understanding made him perk up in breathless anticipation.

"Wait, you didn't—"

"I went to City Hall and filled out the paperwork myself a few days ago," Carlos said, trying not to sound too self-satisfied, but it was hard not to brim with pride when Cecil was suddenly scrambling to push himself up onto his knees and tugging him up right along with him in his excitement.

"You mean you found out and learned the _entire incantation_ to get into the office? Even though the scrolls are kept in the library? _And_ you came up with a _gluten free_ _recipe_ in which _vimby_ might be readily used?" Cecil asked, barely daring to breathe, eyes wide and glowing with delight.

"The library isn't _so bad_ now that I take napalm in that modified fire extinguisher," Carlos shrugged modestly. "Plus, when I brought in some blue rock candy, the Council employees started…humming? And levitating? Anyway, I thought I'd pissed them off until they nearly threw the approved paperwork at me—and then I realized they must have actually liked it, when they didn't even take the usual quart of blood in two easy payments over two weeks, just a pint during the same visit."

Cecil waited only as long as Carlos's explanation took before he crashed their mouths together passionately, briefly, and then shoved himself up and off the couch to drag a breathlessly laughing Carlos behind him.

It wasn't a terribly direct trip from the couch to the bedroom, as they kept stopping to kiss each other silly against the walls, but then Dennis pointedly cleared his throat, and Cecil broke away grinning bashfully and whispering a none too apologetic _"sorry!"_ that received a derisive albeit amused snort in response.

Dennis, The Highly Covert Secret Agent from the Vague, Yet Menacing Government Agency had, quite frankly, done an admirable job of blending into the background where he had disguised himself once upon a time as one of the apartment doors. He did such a good job that even Carlos often forgot about him (whereas as far as Cecil was concerned, Dennis's presence had become one of the comforts of home some time ago. He claimed that once every blue moon, he even came out for coffee.

Cecil then had to clarify to Carlos that he literally meant _when the moon was blue_, what do you _mean_ you thought I meant it figuratively? It happens every four years in July, _duh._ )

By the time they reached Cecil's bedroom, Carlos had lost his shirt, undershirt, belt and one sock—though Cecil had lost his pants, belt, vest, glasses and cravat.

Carlos thought he looked unfairly charming in just his nearly unbuttoned shirt and socks.

Then again, Cecil could pull off furry pants. There probably wasn't much he couldn't pull off.

Carlos's eyes kept being drawn back to the swirling hints of skin beneath Cecil's purple shirt, and he felt his mouth water in anticipation, watching hungrily as Cecil plopped down on the bed, peering coyly up at Carlos through his lashes, and Carlos couldn't wait anymore.

He didn't even remember crossing the room, but while that could easily been dismissed as a glitch in time, Carlos was reasonably sure that he just flung himself at his boyfriend, if the way they found themselves tangled in each other on the bed shoving frantically at the rest of their clothes was any indication.

"Masters of us all," Cecil panted, kissing along Carlos's jaw with hot, wet open mouthed kisses that made Carlos groan and reach to tweak one of Cecil's dusky nipples in retaliation—making him cry out shrilly and arch a little, panting before he could continue, "I want you, I've wanted you—so badly, Carlos, _my_ Carlos—I was so scared of what you'd think, but that was so silly of me, so foolish,_ oh foolish, foolish_ Cecil, that I ever doubted you for one sec—hnn_d_,_" _Cecil finished eloquently as Carlos replaced his searching hands with his mouth, kissing along a particularly lively tendril of ink where it writhed along the flat plane of Cecil's stomach.

Cecil stared down at Carlos with unabashed reverence.

"Why didn't you _say_ _something_ the _moment_ you got those papers?" Cecil demanded suddenly, incredulously. Carlos shrugged his shoulders but bit the inside of his cheek uncertainly, pausing where he was pressing a kiss just above Cecil's navel.

"I didn't want to pressure you, or make you feel rushed," Carlos explained, cheeks growing warm. "I just, I've wanted to, uh, do this, for a while," he shook his head even as the words continued to bubble out of him mouth in a stream of babble. "So I wanted to, a scientist is _always_ prepared, and I just, in case you ever, with me, if you wanted to. Yes," he finished shortly, closing his eyes and pursing his lips, absolutely certain his entire face was scarlet.

When he finally worked up the nerve to open his eyes again, Cecil looked incredibly torn between trying not to laugh and looking horribly crestfallen. "I knew, I knew you wanted to—I-I mean, like, I was pretty _sure_ you wanted to, and I totally wanted to, too," Cecil admitted, fingers tugging at the sheets as he stared down at Carlos with wide, honest eyes. "I'm sorry, Carlos—that I never—it was just—I was—"

"Cecil," Carlos said softly, affectionately nuzzling the light, fine hairs that trailed temptingly down Cecil's belly, and the radio host squirmed. "I never wanted to actually _do_ anything until _you_ were ready. Ready to be open with me, about whatever it was that was bothering you. I knew there was something up, but I didn't want to press you. Please believe me, I would never want to push you into doing anything until you were ready. I love you too much to do that, Cecil," he murmured, sliding briefly back up to indulge his blond in the kiss it looked like he was dying for.

When they broke for air, Cecil was smiling, small and happy and absolutely brilliant, and Carlos mirrored it before kissing his way back down Cecil's chest, loving the way he arched beneath him.

So far, it looked like the fantastical tattoos only rose into three-dimensional space from Cecil's outstretched limbs, where they were usually stationary—so maybe perhaps even the tattoos that decorated his chest and back, where they were still hidden by Cecil's unbuttoned shirt? But that would mean—that they could choose to phase through materials, yet also come into physical contact simultaneously with others?

Either way, Carlos was eager to find out.

Though to be honest, Carlos was mostly eager to find out how hard it would be to drive his impeccably articulate boyfriend to the point of speechlessness.

So far, it was proving rather difficult.

"Carlos, beautiful, handsome, delightful Carlos," Cecil moaned as he distractedly struggled out of his shirt, waxing poetic almost dazedly to his lover as Carlos nipped his way down his belly, making Cecil twist and squirm but somehow he blabbered on and on. "You really are too perfect, too kind, too impossibly incredible to be real."

Carlos could only shake his head and chuckle, kissing Cecil's hipbone and nuzzling the warm flesh as he watched in bemusement as a tendril of ink slithered its way down to curiously follow in the wake of Carlos's exploring lips. "_Querido_, you don't even know how much you've got things backwards," he sighed, nudging the hem of Cecil's underwear with his nose and peering up with dark eyes to gauge Cecil's reaction.

Carlos's eyes met Cecil's, and the _look_ on Cecil's face stole his breath away.

Cecil looked so vulnerable, so open and trusting and _loving_ and so, _so heart-stoppingly beautiful_ that Carlos had to pause a moment to just revel in the moment; that he was here, with the Voice of Night Vale, him, Carlos Valquerez and nobody else. That Cecil, this fascinating, loving and quirky man had chosen to be with Carlos, and had pined for him, cried for him, and loved him so fully, so deeply—

"Carlos?" Cecil asked, a little breathless, a bit worried, and Carlos shook himself out of it, mouth opening and closing a few times before he moved up to kiss Cecil's forehead tenderly, just above his third eye, and he smiled against Cecil's skin when the man trembled a little and gasped.

"_Te amo_, Cecil," he murmured, and said it again and again as he kissed his way back down to Cecil's now prominent erection, which strained against his black lacey boy shorts—and _no,_ Carlos _hadn't_ had to think twice to realize, _oh, that's really hot_ the moment he tugged Cecil's pants down in the hall and saw them. He gave the bulge a gentle, teasing kiss where there was a wet spot spreading through the silky material, and Cecil nearly jumped out of his skin.

Carlos locked his eyes with Cecil's as he slowly, so painfully slowly worked Cecil's underwear down, until his erection bobbed free, curving against his pale stomach, flushed a soft, pretty purple, and Carlos's certainty that Cecil's blood was, in fact, violet, jumped to around ninety-three percent.

"_Carlos_," Cecil squirmed, hands digging into the sheets as he tried not to shift too much in impatience, and Carlos grinned wickedly, stealing Cecil's breath away until it came back in a sharp gasp of pleasure, only to be lost rapidly again in a high, breathy keen as Carlos ran his tongue down along the vein on the underside.

"Beautiful," Carlos whispered, running his hands up and down Cecil's thighs, delighting in the way the inky swirls were flitting about in response to their host's whimpers of pleasure and pleas for more.

Cecil flushed a deep violet at Carlos's curious scrutiny, embarrassed an delighted to be under Carlos's curious eye, but only bit his lip as he watched with wide, dark eyes as Carlos ducked back down to suckle along the side of Cecil's cock, and he held Cecil down with one hand on his hip as he leaned in to take Cecil as far in as he could, eyes fluttering as he moaned when Cecil tried to helplessly buck up into the wet heat with a strangled yelp of _"Carlos!"_

Carlos wasn't a stranger to giving head—as far as he was told, he was pretty damned good at it (because, as a scientist, he'd learned to perfect his techniques until the desired results were obtained; and hey, so what if he had a mild teacher student fetish, whose business was that but the guys getting blown? and he definitely never heard _them_ complain)—but he decided he loved doing this.

Honestly, Carlos would have thought Cecil was being dramatic, with how loud and passionate the praises trembling nonstop out of his mouth were, but the earnest way Cecil trembled beneath him and squirmed under his ministrations told him better, as did the way Cecil's newly revealed appendages were growing bolder, and sliding out of Cecil's firm control.

Or, well, that's what Carlos figured when both he and Cecil let out surprised gasps at the feeling of one of Cecil's tentacle wrapping itself affectionately around Carlos's clothed thigh, tickling dangerously close to Carlos's crotch.

"_H-Hey! You wait your turn!_" Cecil exclaimed, voice cracking loudly when the tendril slipped easily beneath Carlos's jeans to drag teasingly along the cleft of Carlos's ass—making Cecil blush furiously, and made Carlos jump and shudder hard enough he had to pull away. He gave Cecil a cocky grin, though, as he dragged the back of his hand over his slick mouth, laughing.

"I guess there isn't a part of you that doesn't want to touch me, huh, Ceec?" he teased, but his laughter died down a little at the wide eyed, earnest look on Cecil's face.

"Of course not," Cecil breathed, touching Carlo's face lovingly, "Carlos, dearest Carlos—there isn't _one inch_ of me that hasn't been dying to touch you—I just—I never thought you would have..." he trailed off helplessly, but the unspoken "wanted to," "accepted me," "stayed" were as painfully loud as if he'd yelled them.

Carlos never wanted Cecil to think that, ever again, so he shifted forward to press their bodies flush together, alternating scattering his kisses over Cecil's face and the deliciously curling ink along his neck that occasionally pushed as far as Cecil's jaw line, begging for attention there as well.

"Well I don't know who it was that made you feel ashamed of yourself before," Carlos said, a little bitterly, making Cecil blink in surprise at the gravity in Carlos's usually soft voice, "but they were out of their mind. I wouldn't have you any other way that just the way you are," he proclaimed.

He panicked briefly when pearly tears started to well up and cling to Cecil's lashes, worried that he'd said something wrong—but Cecil only cracked a raw but happy smile, which Carlos immediately returned, warm and relieved and he brushed Cecil's hair from his face as he kissed the glistening tears away.

They tasted oddly briny, less like saline and more like the honest to God _open ocean_, but he didn't say anything—he just tried not to be weird and lick his lips, and made a distant note to ask Cecil about it later.

Chances were, it had everything to do with the siren thing, and was not, necessarily just a _Night Vale Thing™_ as he brushed most things off as.

Carlos's hands traveled all over the radio host's body as he kissed his boyfriend senseless, not even paying attention anymore as the tattoos happily trailed after his fleeting touches and caresses—just entirely losing himself in kissing Cecil.

When Carlos broke away to breathe, Cecil smiled goofily up at him, face flushed violet with lack of Oxygen and third eye sigil glowing in delight.

"Hi Carlos," Cecil said dazedly after a beat, looking like he could barely believe this was happening, and Carlos burst out laughing before he kissed the tip of the Voice's nose, loving how cutely it wrinkled. "Hello, Cecil," he chuckled, hands ghosting down Cecil's slim hips.

Cecil smiled before his eyes lowered to half-mast, and he cocked his head as he curled his fingers into the belt loops of Carlos's unbuttoned pants. "May I?" he asked sweetly, and Carlos had to bite back a slightly hysterical laugh at how polite it all was, now that they were _finally doing this. _But he bit his lip and nodded, swallowing thickly as he let Cecil tug his jeans down and he shivered when his boxers were dragged down right along with them, and he glanced up at Cecil's loud, slow inhale.

"Perfect," Cecil breathed, eyes roaming over Carlos's caramel skin from head to toe, and then back down to his boyfriend's straining erection. He didn't hesitate to wrap a hand loosely around his cock to give him a slow stroke from base to tip, and he made a low, happy sound in his throat when Carlos bucked into his hand with a moan.

"Do you have, um," Carlos asked helpfully, and Cecil made a soft, questioning noise before squeaking out a shrill, "oh, right, um yeah" before practically throwing himself to the side to dig through his bedside table – and no, Carlos was going to pretend he hadn't seen the small soapstone statue that blinked and scowled at him from the drawer – before Cecil let out a triumphant sound and brandished the vial of oil jubilantly.

"Don't ask," Cecil warned before Carlos could so much as tilt his head curiously. "Old Woman Josie just left it in a basket for me on my doorstep one day, saying the Erikas insisted she give it to me," Cecil said, rather cheerfully, and Carlos decided to take his words at face value and trust him on this as he took the glass vial.

He also determinedly ignored how it was oddly, yet pleasantly warm already—choosing, rather, to be grateful for the convenience as he poured a generous amount into his hand.

And, if he corked the vial to set aside and it was _exactly as full as it'd been before he poured it_.

Well, he certainly wasn't going to _say anything_. He knew when to stop asking questions here in Night Vale, even if it went against everything a scientist was.

Whatever it was, it smelled really nice.

Like almonds, aged leather bound books and, oddly enough, a hint of ozone.

"I think it smells like coriander, mulled wine and French lace," Cecil explained amicably, "but I've heard it smells like something different to everyone who sniffs it. No two people think it smells the same, I think. I brought it to the station every day for a week, and all seven interns claimed it smelled like something different—but they were all adamant about what they smelled," and here he paused solemnly.

"Poor Liam and Nelson. Their argument got a bit out of hand and—well, it's always harder loosing two in one day," he added sadly.

The insane intern mortality rate really wasn't something Carlos wanted Cecil to think about right now, though, so he smiled, cleared his throat and said _"neat"_ and grinned at the way Cecil playfully covered his face as he groaned in mock embarrassment, even as laughter bubbled out of him.

His giggles quickly melted into a low, sweet moan as Carlos trailed a finger from his perineum to his hole, circling his fingertip around the quivering muscle until Cecil made a plaintive sound deep in his throat, and he cracked a small smile as he slowly eased the tip in, biting his lip to muffle a curse at the way Cecil tightened around him, breathing in sharply through his nose.

Cecil whimpered something that, again, sounded suspiciously like some variation of Sumerian when Carlos pressed his finger in up to the second knuckle, and his hazel eyes flickered up to glimpse Cecil's face—but he didn't look uncomfortable, just desperate.

Which he made very clear with the next babble of words that streamed from his mouth when Carlos pulled his finger out the slightest bit before pushing as deep as he could go.

"Oh Carlos, Carlos I want you, I want you _now_, Carlos, I need you, please, just, _oh_," Cecil exclaimed breathlessly as Carlos eased in a second finger on the next push in, sliding it in easily alongside the first and gently spreading them apart, swallowing a throaty groan when Cecil's spine arched off the bed, his fingers curling into the silky sheets.

"Yesss," Cecil hissed softly, shifting his feet to plant them solidly on the mattress so that he might try to lift his hips to rock back towards Carlos's probing fingers. "Oh, yes, Carlos, _**oh my**__**stars**_—" he ended in a near shout, his head falling back in ecstasy as his scientist slid in a third and final finger before gently curling them inside his boyfriend until they found what they were searching for.

Carlos did his best not to look too smug as he rubbed his fingertips teasingly over and over Cecil's prostate, unable to get enough of his lover's writhing.

So he figured he kind of had it coming when a tentacle smacked his ass almost indignantly—making Carlos _yelp_ and Cecil gasp with horror before he burst into badly stifled giggles.

"You could have just said enough was enough," Carlos grumbled playfully, making a show of glaring at the unabashed tendril, watching in unreserved awe as it curled back into Cecil's body to slink coyly back up a thigh, in ink form once more. Cecil blushed but smiled coyly, peering through his lashes.

"Can you blame me for being torn? You were teasing _so good_, Carlos," Cecil lilted lightly, before his voice dropped a good octave, into something similar to his radio voice—warm, dark and honeyed, sultry enough to send shivers down Carlos's spine.

"But I'd _very much_ like to finish the teasing, and move onto, ah, _bigger_, and _better _things," Cecil purred, and it took everything Carlos had not to roll his eyes and groan—but Cecil saw the reluctant grin tug on Carlos's lips, and he mirrored it with a bright, earnest smile of his own.

Carlos eased Cecil down onto his back, kissing him the entire way, and he settled himself comfortably between his lover's legs, gently easing Cecil's knees apart and shivering at the feeling of velvety tendrils curling lovingly against his skin, sliding up and down the gentle ridges of his spine as if mapping the planes of his back.

"Cecil, please," Carlos moaned as one of his boyfriend's hands, warm and slick with more of that oil, gently wrapped around his clock, sliding up and down slowly, coaxing him to full hardness and smoothing the slick over his length, but he didn't really know what he was pleading for, words and pleas stumbling out of his lips faster than he could keep up with them.

Cecil smiled indulgently up at him anyway, eyes darker than Carlos could ever remember seeing them and it sent a shiver down his spine, urging him to move things along, faster, for both of their sakes, because he honestly didn't know how much longer they could wait.

He took his time settling over Cecil, worrying over this and that until Cecil laughingly whined _"Carlos_" and rocked his hips up playfully, dragging a reluctant grin from Carlos's lips that wavered when he nudged the head of his cock against Cecil's hole, gently smearing the slick and precome there, making Cecil gasp softly as well.

Cecil tossed his head back with a strangled moan at the feeling, at how _close_ they were, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly, opening his eyes and gazing up imploringly with glazed, violet eyes.

"_**Car**__-los—_" Cecil choked out as Carlos slowly pushed in, inch by inch, and Carlos clenched his jaw with a low swear, hissing a loud breath hard through his teeth as he fought not to simply start pounding into the tight, oh _fuck so tight_ heat of Cecil's body, and he held as still as he could, arms trembling where he was resting on his elbows planted by Cecil's head for leverage, and he stared down with wide hazy eyes at his boyfriend.

"_Dios Mio-Cecil_," Carlos ground out shakily, pressing his face into the crook of Cecil's neck, kissing at the damp skin there, sucking softly at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, grazing his teeth against the milky skin just to make Cecil whimper.

Cecil's hands groped up the covers until they found Carlos's, twining their fingers together tightly and Carlos squeezed back tightly before slowly sliding nearly all the way out, and then sliding back in until their hips were flush against each others.

They moved together—slowly at first as they adjusted to each other, and then a little faster when Cecil inevitably whimpered for it, wrapping both legs (and a few tendrils) around his scientist's waist to draw him in closer, heels digging into the small of his back as he arched up to grind against his boyfriend, gasping when his cock rubbed against Carlos's stomach.

"_Cecil,_" Carlos moaned desperately, over and over again like it was the only word he remembered, and maybe it was but that was okay, it was the only one that mattered. _"Cecil_."

He reached between their bodies to grab Cecil's cock to stroke him in time with their frantic thrusts, and he shuddered as Cecil cried out hoarsely for more, his hands jerking up to bury themselves into his long hair, and he moaned when Cecil tugged softly.

Carlos jerked in surprise when a tendril ran along the arch of his back and settled at the cleft of his ass, running tenderly along the crack until it reached his hole, circling almost questioningly, and it was all Carlos could do to muster enough breath to readily groan a desperately, "oh, _fuck yes" _as he realized the silent question.

"Oh gods, _Carlos_," Cecil wailed as the tapered end slipped easily into Carlos, making the scientist bite back a startled cry that quickly turned into a long, shuttering groan as the tip began to ease in and out of him. "Carlos, you're so _perfect amazing beautiful __**gods**__**above**__, __**yes**__, so good_ you feel _so good too __**good **_my _lovely_ Carlos you're mine, all mine, I _love you_," he babbled, almost sobbing with pleasure as the tendril began to rock in and out of his lover in time with Carlos's thrusts.

Carlos gave a sudden, stilted cry when another eager tendril slid in alongside the first, stretching Carlos open wider, and it made him scream out louder in that tongue that Cecil didn't really understand but sounded strangely like Weird Spanish, only less normal.

Whatever it was, Carlos sounded very pretty when he was screaming in it.

"C-Ceec, c-cariña—_**m-mierda**_, I'm gonna c-cum if th-they—if y-y-ou d-don't st-_aahp_," Carlos choked as he gave a particularly rough thrust when the tentacles abruptly found his prostate, making him see stars briefly whenever they teased the gland—which was beginning to become more and more frequent.

"T-that's the idea," Cecil choked, almost laughingly, his entire body taut and quivering, "b-because I-I don't think—I can't last much…_hnngh_," he finished eloquently.

And if Carlos had thought Cecil's smooth, flawless voice was a turn on, Cecil—sweaty, flustered, his cock dripping with precome, incoherent and stumbling and very nearly speechless had to be fucking illegal, it was so painfully hot.

"S'okay, _s' bueno, querido_," he panted, stuttering unconsciously between languages he was so far gone, "I want to see you cum, amore, _por favor_, for me, Cecil, _Cecil."_

"_Carlos_," Cecil said weakly, hips canting towards Carlos's for more, and the scientist decided enough was enough and began to rock in and out of the radio host in earnest, hands gripping Cecil's thighs tight enough to bruise and grunting softly with each thrust in, Cecil matching each of his groans with a shout of pleasure of his own.

"I'm gonna—'m gonna—" Cecil trailed off, before his words suddenly stumbled together and Carlos distantly realized that _"ßµø◊œÅ∫!"_ was by no means English, or even anything he'd ever heard before (though had a strange inkling was Cecil's mother tongue) but he couldn't bring himself to care as he grit his teeth and slammed home into Cecil's prostate.

Cecil fell apart _beautifully_.

He came with a silent scream, mouth forming Carlos's name silently over and over again as he struggled to choke air down through his orgasm, cum spattering hard all over his belly and chest, and even as far as his neck.

Carlos milked it for all he was worth, pumping his boyfriend hard and fast though his climax and groaning at the way he tightened, _tightened_ around him until he was cursing and crying out Cecil's name as he came too—voice cracking into a shout when the tendrils inside him ground hard and deliberately into his prostate, and he came harder and more messily than he could ever remember coming in his life.

They collapsed into a messy, panting heap together, Carlos still doing his best to brace himself over Cecil's lithe frame to let him breathe—until Cecil made a tired noise and wrapped his arms sluggishly around Carlos's middle to tug him instantly down. They let out twin sighs at the proximity, before their eyes met and they grinned.

Carlos's smile faltered a little though.

"Cecil, you're… glowing," he pointed out, and though he means it to come out as a question, he doesn't have nearly enough energy to make it sound like anything but a statement. Sure enough, all of Cecil's tattoos were giving off a subtle but unarguable glow, a soft, shimmering hue that reflects prettily on Cecil's milky skin.

Cecil blinked all three eyes sleepily but giggled, sounding a little drunk.

"Silly Carlos," he smiled indulgently, nuzzling his face into his scientist's shoulder, "of course I'm glowing. It's _called_ an afterglow. It's only a common trait shared amongst approximately fort-nine percent of Night Vale's native population," he grinned proudly. "At least I have that, since I didn't luck out on the lack of pain receptors. "

Carlos didn't have to look down to feel the triumphant grin pressed against his skin.

"Boy, what a dull, sad, _miserable and pathetic_ existence _**that**_ would be, am I right?"

"Steve Carlsberg doesn't have either, does he."

"_Nope_."

••∞•∞•∞••

**A/N**: I'm convinced Cecil is part siren, yes. I have a whole document dedicated to making the original Sirens from the Odyssey his ancestors. Hence, the Telly Incident. Because Cecil incited _**an angry mob**_ _**with his voice.**_

Anyway, so so so much happened so fast in this fic. Yyyeah. I hope you enjoyed it, weird as it got. And yeah, I admit it; it even got a little weird for me. I was not expecting the tattoos to get so…involved, but I figure neither did Cecil, so everything's cool right? I mean if you don't like it don't read it. I know I always try and make it a point to be open about these kinds of things, and I've read enough of it to be pretty used to it by now.

Fun fact: getting into the Night Vale fandom is basically accepting that you're gonna come out of the experience with a much more open mind, and a few new kinks you never thought you'd touch in a million years before. But, like Cecil so wisely says, nothing is perfect—until learn to accept it for what it is.

(God, Night Vale is _deep._)

So basically, don't knock it til you've tried it. And I've tried it, and I'm surprisingly okay with it.

Anyway, I hope you liked this monstrosity of a fic! It just kept going and going…

_Please Read and Review~_


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